


Done Looking for the Critics, 'Cause They're Everywhere

by aimmyarrowshigh, pinkalldaypinkallnight



Category: Stereo Kicks (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkalldaypinkallnight/pseuds/pinkalldaypinkallnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's birthday begins only a few short hours after Stereo Kicks squeak through their second time in the Bottom Two.  Barclay thinks the best way to start the new year on a high note is to let Tom be the bottom one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Done Looking for the Critics, 'Cause They're Everywhere

It isn't that difficult to find Tom once Barclay gets back to the house, cold as balls because James' jacket is a bit shit. Most of the housemates are still out drinking and celebrating, or else they're trying to console Lola, but Tom wasn't at the club. Once Barclay's locked the doors again, he can hear the moody music floating down the stairs from one of the abandoned bedrooms.

He toes off his shoes and takes just a moment to flex his toes nervously against the plush carpeting of the front room. It's either that or crack his knuckles, and if he tries that now he'll crush the little cake in his hand. That would be terrible. Cakes must be protected at all costs.

Just like Tom's little heart, thinks Barclay's scumbag-brain, going over all pink and hearts and fireworks as his chest tightens. Tom strums a minor chord.

"'M'home," Barclay calls into the quiet house. Just in case. 

"Yo," Tom calls back. No one else answers. Just as Barclay had hoped. He lights the candle and wanders toward the music, pushing open the door with one hand and holding the cake behind him with the other, careful to avoid singeing his shirt. 

Tom greets him with a distracted "Hello love" and that shouldn't make Barclay's heart stutter but it does, every damn time. Tom's barefoot and wrapped up in that stupid coat he's been wearing all the time lately, his face freshly scrubbed and the edges of his hair wet. The way he holds his guitar is enough to make Barclay a bit jealous.

"Hello, hello." Barclay licks his lip. "Everyone else is still out, just s'you know. We finally have the place to ourselves." 

Tom just looks at him, one eyebrow raised. In an attempt to seem a mite less awkward, Barclay just sticks out the hand with the tiny cake. The other eyebrow joins the first, attempting to escape into Tom's hair, by the looks of things.

"I just. I just thought you should start your birthday off happy, not miserable about this shit night. I didn't mean to presume, if you were planning on just going to bed I can..." he trails off, not sure what he could do, as they live in the same room.

"Aren't you meant to sing?" Tom asks, looking up at Barclay with a grin.

"Haven't I sung enough?" Barclay sits down carefully, toe-to-toe with Tom and the little cake held out in front of him. If Tom doesn't hurry up with the wishing, he's like to burn his fingers on the wax, and as far as he knows about himself or about Tom, that's not their kink. "Make a wish, before I turn into a candle myself."

Tom closes his eyes. Purses his lips, which, Jesus, he shouldn't be so _hot_ while being so sad. Blows out the candle.

Barclay purses his own lips back with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Well, look at that. Your wish's come true. I'm right here."

"Oh, god." Tom groans. "You really are embarrassing."

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Barclay leans in and kisses Tom, thinking back to the last time they did this and how he doesn't really want to ever stop. He's still holding the cake, though, which makes it all a bit difficult.

Tom holds up a hand, pushes against his chest. "Alright you, put my cake down; don't bloody smash it! That looks delicious, and if you think I'm sharing with anyone you're quite wrong."

Barclay pushes the stupid cockblocking cake to the side and looks up at Tom, who has migrated to his knees in front of Barclay's seated form.

"Not even me?" Barclay asks, his best Sad Wounded Eyes on. "I went out to the shops and bought you this little cake with my own money, and you won't even let me have a little icing?"

At that, Tom's grin turns dirty. "Why don't you give me a reason, a good reason, to share with you?"

"Well." Barclay shrugs out of James' jacket, because otherwise he just has on his favorite vest top and really, his arms have been enough reason for Tom in the past. "I went to the shops. And I bought you a little cake. With my own money. Isn't that good enough reason?"

Tom's visibly flustered by Barclay's arms coming into play. Maybe those mourning shots they all did before Xtra were a good idea. "I suppose I might give you one little taste."

The tip of Barclay's tongue peeks out from between his lips, just enough to wet them pink and shiny. "What if I want more than just a little taste?"

"Well then you'll know to get me a bigger cake next year."

At that, Barclay's eyes light up because _next year_? Next year is a long time, and Tom still sees himself getting a little, or maybe not-so-little, cake from Barclay?

He must've waited too long to respond, because Tom begins to look like he feels he's overstepped, so clearly the only response is to lean in for another kiss. "Stop lookin' so moon-eyed," Tom demands, bossy as ever. "Honestly. I'm just in this for all the cakes."

"Well now we've made that clear, can we skip the cake? It'll still be around later. I'm in the mood for something sweeter." Barclay looks hungrily at Tom's mouth, the sides of which curl up in laughter. 

"That was a truly terrible line. But I reckon you may've made a good point. The cake will still be here later," Tom laughs out, but his eyes darken at the sight of Barclay leaning forward, showing off his arms. "And so will a thousand rugrats, so I figure we best hurry."

In a flash of fast-moving pixie, Tom is on him, knocking them both onto the ground, thankfully away from both the cake and guitar.

His giant coat flops down and covers them like a blanket, and Barclay has to laugh as he pushes lapel out of his face. "Come on, then, I took mine off!"

"You did that so I'd succumb to your arms, and we both know it." Tom shrugs out of the fabric. It's such a big coat and Tom is such a small man that Barclay has to smile every time he sees Tom wearing it. Once the coat's off, Tom's left in a white undershirt and soft sweatpants, and Barclay can already just see the outline of Tom's cock through the material.

He lifts up the hem of his vest looking at Tom through his eyelashes, silently asking how this is going to go. Tom gets impatient with the pace and sheds his own shirt before crawling over and pulling Barclay's off. 

"Alright, then." Barclay doesn't mind this at all. He wraps his hands around Tom's waist and he's always just a little surprised that they don't actually meet in the middle.

Their lips meet again, and instead of the frantic feeling Barclay usually gets when he's anywhere near Tom, a certain serenity falls over him. He slowly leans back until he's lying on the floor with Tom balanced over him.

Tom's skin is always so smooth. Barclay draws his fingers slowly up and down along Tom's spine just to watch the dark pink of Tom's nipples pucker up. "So, my birthday boy. What d'you want?"

"That's right.” Tom looks like the cat who got the canary. “I'm the fucking birthday boy. And I want you to fuck me. Then I want to eat cake and fall asleep."

Barclay is overcome with fondness. "I can do that."  
Tom pulls himself up and heaves his body backwards onto the nearest bed, then stretches his hand out imperiously. "If you don't go get some lube and a condom and get over here in the next five minutes, I'm going to have to get myself off. And on my _birthday_!"

"Well, we don't want that." Barclay stands up and reaches down into his own sweatpants to adjust his dick enough to run back to their own room. "You're awful at wanking. You give yourself trauma whenever you resort to that."

"That was once," Tom whines.

Barclay just giggles on his way out the door and waddle-runs to their room. On his way back, he stops to lean against the door frame and watch Tom, who's lying back lazily palming himself. Figuring that touching is better than watching, Barclay closes and locks the door, then thinks about the incessant nosy presence of their bandmates and puts a chair in front of the door as well.

Tom's eyes are already glossy when he looks over to Barclay. "Good thinking, mate. Just about killed me when you had to stop in the middle th'other day."

"Well, it was that or scar Charlie for life and maybe go to prison." Barclay shucks his sweats and crawls over Tom again. "It seems unfair that you're more dressed than I am. Shouldn't you be in your..." Barclay pauses for dramatic effect. "Birthday suit?"

"That was even worse than the last one. I can't believe I'm about to sleep with someone with such terrible taste." Tom looks down his nose at Barclay, something he didn't know was possible to do while supine.

Barclay just grins innocently and slides down the length of Tom's body to start tugging at the waistline of his sweats with his teeth. It's a bit difficult, but probably the thought counts. Tom certainly seems to think so, if the groan and accompanying twitch in his newly revealed tight pants is any indication.

Barclay circles Tom's tiny ankle with his fingers, weighs it out. He kisses the side of Tom's knee as he crawls back up the bed again.

With his mouth this close to Tom's dick, it seems rude to not give it a kiss on his way up. He mouths at the head through the thin cotton of Tom's pants, making the damp spot there expand and making Tom's tiny thighs twitch. He can't help dipping his tongue into Tom's navel, too, and kissing as much skin as he can cover over Tom's chest. The stylists have waxed them both smooth even though they always wear shirts. It feels odd under Barclay's mouth.

Finally he gets up to Tom's stubbly cheek and it's so familiar, so comforting, that he nearly forgets what they're doing. Luckily, Tom definitely hasn't, and he pushes the little travel-size tube of lube into Barclay's hand with a needy little groan.

He slicks up his fingers, two to start, as Tom is kicking his pants off.

It's been fucking ages since they've actually got this far. And that's a fucking shame, too, because they've been living in the same house, sleeping in the same bunk bed, for two months now. But they haven't actually had the time or the space to let go and loosen up and _really fuck_ since boot camp. Handjobs in the shower, a blowie or two in the back of taxis when they can manage to go somewhere without the others… but it’s not enough.

And every time they get anywhere near it, one of their damn bandmates gets in the way. Which, Barclay knows that they were given a lifeline, and all that other rubbish they spout at every interview, but sometimes he just wants to get off with his... person... without worrying about scaring poor Reece or giving Jake even more reason to hate them.

They _almost_ pulled off a nifty under-the-blankets pull-each-other-off move last week while everyone was watching Dodgeball, but then Casey threw popcorn at Barclay's face and yelled, "We know what you're doing! _’Don't be such a pervy predator, Tom!’_ " and that sort of ruined it.

There isn't anybody here to ruin it now though, and Barclay has maybe been drifting off for a bit too long, because Tom is looking up at him with his #2 Unimpressed Face.

"Sorry," Barclay mutters and he hitches Tom's thighs over his shoulders to make up for it. "How do you want it babe?" Barclay looks up at Tom from between his legs.

"Mmm. It's my birthday. I feel like I should say I just want everything and make you figure out what that means," Tom says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "But… I'll have mercy on you, my lovely Barclay. How about you suck me off while you open me for your cock? Hmm? How does that sound?"

Barclay feels like maybe he's being mocked, but he can't be arsed to figure out how, and that sounds like a _fantastic_ idea, so he gets straight to it. Barclay bites at the inside of Tom's thigh on his way, where he's still pale and hasn't been spray-tanned. He's buzzing, maybe more than Tom is, and Tom is the one all spread out on the bed.

He just wants Tom. So much. All the time. And he knows he's totally obvious about it, even Ben's caught on--even _Andrea's_ caught on--but he just can't help it. He's had it bad for Tom since they met in the greenroom more than a year ago and he still can't believe that they've been given this chance together.

With the tip of his index finger sliding in, he sucks the first couple of inches of Tom down, sloppy like he knows Tom likes.

Tom's noises during sex are even better than his singing. He gets so raspy. Barclay loves it.

" _Fuck_ , B, yes, just like that." Tom groans and slides a hand down to caress Barclay's jawbone. After a few minutes, Tom is reduced to grunts and moans, which is exactly what Barclay loves about him. He pretends to be calm and together all the time, but when he’s not… he’s really not.

Barclay slurps down on Tom's cock as far as he can -- which is all of it, thank you very much; that yodeling is good for something at least -- and draws a figure-eight with his tongue just to make Tom groan like the world is ending around them.

He slides up slowly, slowly, eying Tom's pink, flushed chest.

He wants to try something. A birthday gift, as it were.

Without taking out the two fingers he's worked up to, he lowers his head even further between Tom's legs and licks out tentatively.

The sound Tom makes is like nothing Barclay's ever heard, and he decides then and there that he wants to hear nothing else ever again.

Thin thighs close around Barclay's ears, and it's a bit hard to breathe. He doesn't even care. If this is how he's meant to die, then 'trapped between Tom Mann's legs, arse in his face' isn't a bad way to go.

He works his tongue in between his fingers, getting particularly wonderful reactions and attempting to recreate whatever it is he's done.

Tom is writhing around so much that it's sort of painful to try to keep up with him, but Barclay isn't going to stop until--

Well, he'd like to make Tom come like this. And then fuck him until he comes again. It's what he'd want for _his_ birthday, anyway.

He lifts his head up to ask, and is immediately berated by way of Tom's thighs closing in around his ears. "Just -- babe, ow -- just wanted to see if… want to see if you can come from this… and again from my cock. Wanna make you feel good, for your birthday, yeah?"

"Uh-huh." Tom almost sounds drunk. He pushes his fingers through Barclay's hair. "Keepgawn."

That's as good of a confirmation as any he's heard, so he gets back to it, crooking his fingers to find that spot that'll drive Tom completely 'round the bend.

From the way Tom's back arches, he's successful. The hand that Barclay has free wraps around Tom's cock again and Tom tightens his grip on Barclay's hair until it almost hurts.

Barclay's so hard he has to rub down against the mattress just to get a little relief. Tom's coming undone, and it's all down to him.

It's _hot_ , is what it is. Barclay is focusing on holding himself off when Tom lets out a sound that can only be described as euphoria and clenches down on Barclay's fingers and tongue and comes.

His thighs are actually shaking when he finally releases the death grip around Barclay's jaw. Barclay's hand is wet with come. He takes a deep breath and drizzles gentle kisses over Tom's thighs, doesn't remove his fingers, but curls them deep and slow and purposeful. 

"Too much? Wanna wait?"

"N-no. ‘S’good. Keep. Keep going, want you to fuck me, Barcs. For my _fucking_ birthday."

Barclay slowly pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets at the foot of the bed. He rips open the condom packet and rolls it on, lubing himself up before leaning down over Tom's blissed-out body. He moves to kiss Tom again, and then thinks maybe Tom might not -- just considering. He kisses Tom's jaw instead, low by his neck, and Tom shivers, eyes closed.

Then Tom presses his palm to Barclay's cheek and mutters, "Oh, kiss me, you wanker. It's my own bum."

Barclay can't quite manage to kiss well given how hard he's laughing at that, and his cock slips up against where it's meant to go but ends up teasing instead.

Tom groans into his mouth and reaches a hand down in between them, scrambling to steady Barclay's cock and pushing his hips down. Barclay sinks in slow, pulling back before pushing all the way in. Once there, he shudders with how tighthotwet it is, how Tom's body seems to suck him in without any sign of letting him go.

Tom folds his arms and legs up around Barclay's ribs. He tucks his face into the curve of Barclay's shoulder.

They find a rhythm quickly, given how long it's been since they were able to do this.

Barclay feels like he's been on the edge for hours, but he doesn't want to finish before Tom, as it's his birthday and all.

But Tom's literally _just_ come, and even though Barclay can feel him fatten up again hard and fast between their bellies, it's still going to be a while.

In an effort to stave off his orgasm, Barclay slows down a bit, staying deep inside Tom and circling his hips. Tom seems to appreciate the change of pace, muttering words of praise in amongst the curses that Barclay's gotten used to.

"Havin' a happy birthday?" Barclay asks, his lips against Tom's ear.

"Mmm – you, fucking, I can't say -- yes. Yes, this is the best fucking birthday." 

"The best fucking?" Barclay asks, feigning ignorance as he nips Tom's ear lightly. "Ta, love."

"Fuck you."

"If you can get it up again after this, old man, go for it."

"Old man? Old?" squawks Tom, "I'll show you old you wanker."

Never one to decline a challenge, however made-up it may be, Tom flicks his hips down with renewed vigor, sloppily sucking on Barclay's neck.

Barclay can give as good as he gets, and it doesn't take too long before Tom's shivering again.

"Yes, Barcs, fucking _yes_ , so close, c'mon babe." It's _embarrassing_ but that last little term of endearment is what has Barclay gasping and coming. Quickly, he wraps a hand around Tom's dick, expertly flicking his wrist the way he knows Tom likes, wringing out a second orgasm from him with finesse. Tom bites down on Barclay's shoulder and tugs at Barclay's hair with long, rough fingers. It's perfect.

Barclay manages to roll himself off to the side of the bed, not that there was much room to begin with. He grabs the sheet and wipes Tom's stomach down before removing the condom and tying it off. He nearly tosses it to the floor before remembering about the tiny cake. He peers over the edge of the bed and grabs it, bringing it up to rest on his chest.

"And the second part of your birthday plan," he says gallantly. "You got fucked, and now you get cake."

Tom smiles tiredly and reaches out a finger. Barclay realizes what he's set himself up for a second before the icing is smeared across his cheekbone and lips.

Tom feeds the sugar-dusted tip of his finger into Barclay's mouth, and Barclay sucks at it just enough to be sexy. But to be honest, his jaw's a bit tired.

"You look wrecked, love," he tells Tom, who, in all fairness, also looks like he's about to fall asleep in his cake.

Tom yawns and stubbornly takes a bite from from the middle of the little cake. "Whose fault is that, then?"

"I seem to remember a birthday boy asking to get fucked and eat cake. I'm just fulfilling your dreams."

"I seem to remember asking to get fucked and eat cake. I do not remember asking to get eaten out until I nearly cried." Barclay is a little horrified -- until he sees the smirk hiding in the corner of Tom's bitten-red lips.

"Well, excuse me," Barclay snorts. He steals a rather large bit of cake. "I can't help it that I haven't got to be reacquainted with your bum in far too long."

"Well my bum is certainly glad you've gotten to be friends again. Just think what a shame it would be had you not! A wasted birthday, in my opinion, if one doesn't come at the hands, and tongue, of such a lovely man as Barclay Beales."

"And thoughtful," Barclay points out, stealing more cake. "Because I bought you a little cake."

Tom kisses his cheek. He licks away some of the frosting. "And thoughtful," he amends. "Because you're here with me instead of letting me get moody. Even though you're eating most of my cake, you thief." Tom yawns. "Well, Barcs, if we don't put this cake down I'll fall asleep right in it. And in the morning, we've to convince Louis Walsh that we should sing a real song that isn't complete shit. Need to rest up for that, and for corralling all of the little ones."

"No mentioning them while we're naked." They'd set that rule early on. Barclay sets the cake on the bedside table and retrieves the sheets from where they'd come to rest on the floor.

"Hmm, I suppose." Tom sounds half asleep already, and when Barclay looks over his eyes are shut and his mouth is already parted.

Barclay kisses Tom's forehead. "I've to shut off the lights. I'll be right back. I promise."

Tom makes a small sort of snuffling sound and curls up with the light blanket Barclay throws over him. Barclay bites his lip and smiles down at the little lump that is Tom. He can't help patting Tom's bum before he shuffles to the light switch.

After he climbs back into the bed, Tom curls right back up against him. "D'you really think I'm old?"

"No," Barclay laughs. "You're only two years older'n me."

"But are you sure it isn't strange? What with the band ‘n'all?"

Barclay takes a moment, so Tom knows he's being serious. "I think that you're the perfect person to keep them all in line. You are a wonderful artist and we're all lucky to have you. _I'm_ lucky to have you."

Tom's mouth smiles where it's pressed up against Barclay's chest. Then his breathing evens out, and his grip loosens, and Barclay knows that Tom is fast asleep.

He tries to stay up, to enjoy the wonderful night they've had, but soon enough his eyes slip shut and he's out.

Barclay wakes up only a short while later to Tom poking his stomach repeatedly. He folds Tom's thin hand up in his and kisses Tom's knuckles, eyes still closed. "Is it morning?"

Rather than answering, Tom says, "Do you know, I'm old enough now to adopt a child."

All of a sudden Barclay's completely alert, eyes popping open. "Are you now?" he says, trying for nonchalant but probably passing as overly interested.

Tom nods. "I am. I do like babies. Don't know why that's the first thing I thought of when I tried to steal some blankets back from your giant legs, but there it is."

"I like babies," Barclay blurts out, blushing beet red seconds after.

Tom kisses his cheek. "Well. That's lucky, I guess."

"Is it?" Barclay stammers, not sure where to look. Tom grabs his chin and steers his face back so they're eye to eye. 

"Yes. It is lucky. Now go back to sleep. Someone fucked the energy right out of me; I'm still exhausted."

A few hours later, Tom wakes again. Barclay still hasn't slept since Tom's muttering in the dark.

"So. Earlier. When you said... that."

Tom yawns again and stretches and is beautiful and naked. “ Is this about my newfound realization I'm allowed to legally obtain a small human person now?"

"Yeah, just -- you said it was lucky that _I_ like kids?" Barclay spreads his hands. "Why?"

Thunder comes roaring from the hall. 

"We know you're in there!" Casey.

"We know you have cake!" James.

"And we want cake!" Charlie.

Tom clambers into Barclay's lap, wraps his arms around his neck, and pecks his lips just before the hurricane of fistfalls begins to assault their door. " _Because we already have six_.”


End file.
